


The Curves Of Your Lips Rewrite History

by kaijuvenom



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: (damar is the moron), Cardassian flirting, First Kiss, If there’s is only one Vorta commander on each ship, M/M, No Smut, Other, Weyoun is morosexual, and the jem’hadar dont sleep, how many beds could they possibly have???, theres only one bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-05
Updated: 2021-01-05
Packaged: 2021-03-15 13:40:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28564494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaijuvenom/pseuds/kaijuvenom
Summary: It's an entirely average dayoun fic, but wait! There's only one* bed! Drama ensues!*technically there are two beds but Does That Truly Matter
Relationships: Damar/Weyoun (Star Trek)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 43





	The Curves Of Your Lips Rewrite History

“You don’t have to do this,” Damar said, and in fact he wasn’t sure where he would rather be at the moment. He was grateful for the opportunity to not be forced to sleep in the same bed as Dukat, but Weyoun had neglected to mention the other quarters were his own. 

“It’s the only appropriate combination,” Weyoun said in response, his tone revealing nothing of the meaning of his words, but Damar’s questioning look allowed Weyoun to explain himself before he could say anything stupid. “I don’t wish to spend tonight, or any night, with Dukat, and, forgive me for being presumptuous, but I don’t believe you do either.”

“You’re right about that,” Damar admitted easily, but he still felt as if he were missing something, a hidden motive. “I wasn’t aware you cared about my wants.” Weyoun froze for a moment, his hand stuck reaching for a spare blanket in a cupboard that he couldn’t quite seem to reach, before he regained his composure. 

“I don’t. But it is my responsibility to-“ he paused, glancing behind him towards Damar and then frowning up at the blanket, “my responsibility to keep everyone on this ship-“ again, he stopped, and this time he jumped, trying to grab the blanket and failing, “safe,” he finished, jumping again and sighing in frustration. 

“Safe,” Damar repeated, watching him struggle with the faintest hint of laughter in his expression. 

“Precisely. Dukat is... an essential component of the Cardassian government, and of course important to the Dominion, but he is...”

“Unbearable?” Damar offered. 

Weyoun didn’t answer, continuing to struggle. Damar, deciding to take pity on him, took a step forward. 

“Can I help?”

Weyoun stepped back, turning toward him with a partially sincere glare. “If you would be so kind.”

Chuckling, Damar reached up and easily pulled the blanket down, handing it to Weyoun, who didn’t seem amused at all, which made it more amusing. 

He snatched the blanket from Damar without offering a _thank you,_ perhaps because his thank you came in the form of him deciding not to kick Damar out for laughing at him. 

“I don’t want to have an argument over the bed, and I refuse to sleep on the floor, so do with that information what you will,” Weyoun said, sitting on the edge of his bed and crossing his legs, lifting an eyebrow as if he expected Damar to understand the implications of his words.

As if this was some kind of test, but Damar was beginning to feel like he’d walked into the wrong classroom and was now staring down at an exam written in Vulcan. 

There were two options here, either he would sleep on the floor or he would sleep on the bed with Weyoun. One of those was the correct response, and one of them would result in a very disgruntled Vorta for the next ten days of this journey. Every conversation with Weyoun was like this—a minefield that Damar knew was _possible_ to navigate, but he’d never once gotten across without being blown up at least once. 

It was all games to him, and Damar wasn’t good at these kinds of games. He sighed, hoping to find a hint written in Weyoun’s expression. Nothing. 

“I’ll sleep on the floor,” he decided, and knew it was the wrong choice, because Weyoun unceremoniously dropped the blanket on the floor and pulled himself the rest of the way onto his bed. His look of playful teasing vanished into one of annoyance. 

“Fine.” 

Damar could’ve taken it back then, but it wouldn’t have made a difference. He knew from experience Weyoun didn’t allow retakes on his tests. If anything, it would make him more annoyed with Damar. 

So he slept on the floor the first night. Or at least, tried to. But it was the floor and hence, rather uncomfortable, and he almost relented to Weyoun’s unspoken challenge and asked if he could change his mind and they could sleep on the bed together. 

The next night was much the same, and Damar didn’t sleep any more than he had the first, and Weyoun didn’t ask him if he’d like to change his mind. 

Damar _hated_ his games, he hated not knowing what the rules were or how one was meant to take their next move, and what was even more infuriating was that he seemed to be playing a different game with everyone he encountered. It would have been fascinating to watch the way he played with Dukat, because, for the most part at least, Dukat seemed to at least have a vague understanding of where their game was leading. 

It _would_ have been interesting to watch. If seeing Dukat and Weyoun together didn’t make his blood boil for reasons he’d rather not delve into. 

They were currently having an argument over the lack of chairs on the bridge, and Weyoun was altogether far more close to Dukat than Damar would like. Especially after Weyoun had been the one to say he didn’t want to sleep in the same bed as Dukat.

Weyoun kept glancing over at him, as if to make the whole thing worse. He was saying something about how Dukat should maybe find _creative_ ways to utilize the space around them. Damar watched him push a Jem’Hadar away from a comm system and, Damar had to hold back an outraged and exaggerated noise at this, pulled himself up on the comm system, narrowly avoiding hitting an emergency shutdown button with his leg and grabbed Dukat’s arm, pulling him in front of him. 

And yet again, Weyoun wasn’t looking at Dukat. He was looking at Damar, staring into his eyes like this was some sort of challenge, a challenge that Damar still had yet to understand. He looked away briefly, to avoid Weyoun’s searing purple eyes, and when he turned back, Weyoun had a leg wrapped around Dukat’s waist and was staring up at him with an expression that made Damar want to gag. 

That night, the third night, as Damar sat on the edge of Weyoun’s bed, waiting for him to stop wasting time playing with his hair in the bathroom mirror so Damar could shower and sleep, he couldn’t help the bitterness that washed over him. He’d thought he’d found something in common with Weyoun, a mutual hatred of Dukat, but apparently not. That had all been part of the game, whatever that game was.

“I would think you’d be doing this in Dukat’s quarters,” he said. “I imagine he’d welcome you after your… display earlier.”

Weyoun froze, staring at Damar in the mirror, before he laughed, it was more of a giggle, and Damar hated himself for finding it attractive. “Oh, I didn’t realize you saw that. I _do_ hope you don’t disapprove. Just having a little fun.”

Damar neglected to say that he knew perfectly well Weyoun knew he’d seen them, because Damar and Weyoun had been staring right at each other, and he assumed this was still part of the infuriating game he wished he wasn’t playing. 

_“You_ are free to do whatever you want. Or,” he paused, “whoever you want.” And he tried not to let the bitterness he felt make his way into his words but- “If… your… species is even capable. Of doing that.” He didn’t try hard enough.

Yet again, Weyoun giggled, and he turned away from the mirror, flouncing over to Damar and running a hand across his shoulder as he jumped onto the bed behind him. Damar pulled away, standing up and crossing his arms. 

“Are you?” He asked, and the question was out of his mouth before he could even think it through and regret it. Which he did, immediately afterward.

“Am I what?” Weyoun asked, crossing his legs on the bed and looking up at him, tilting his head in that way he _had_ to know drove Damar insane. Weyoun tilted his head the other way, frowning. As if he didn’t understand what Damar had asked him. 

“Capable of…” Damar trailed off, shaking his head. “Nothing. Why don’t you go do those things you may or may not be capable of with Dukat?”

Weyoun scoffed. “Perhaps I will. If you think I’m so _capable_ of it.”

“You’re the one flirting with him all day, you tell me,” Damar responded, looking away.

“I wasn’t-” Weyoun began, before he stopped and frowned, his expression morphing into one Damar didn’t recognize. “I wasn’t-” He stopped again and stood up. “Fine. Maybe I will. I’ll go right now, and you know what? You can have the bed. Feel free.”

Damar watched him leave, and he had the feeling that if Dominion ships had the capability, he would’ve slammed the door behind him. “Weyoun…” He wasn’t sure what he’d intended to say, but it was too late anyway. 

He did end up sleeping on the bed, and it smelled like almonds and pomegranate tea, like how Weyoun smelled. And he dreamed about him too. And tried very hard not to look at him when they saw each other the next morning.

Which failed, because Weyoun sat across from him at his table, as if they hadn’t fought the night before, as if Weyoun hadn’t run his fingers against Damar’s shoulder the way he had, and provoked him like that. 

“Good morning, Damar,” he said, his usual smile plastered onto his face. “How are you?”

Damar glared at him. “I _was_ fine.”

Weyoun frowned. “Are you mad at me? Did I do something to annoy you?”

It was a terrible shame Damar couldn’t respond with, _no, you did some_ one _to annoy me,_ because it was some brilliant wordplay on his part, and he now had the feeling Weyoun _had_ left to go to Dukat’s quarters to annoy him. That had to have been his reasoning, because there was no way Weyoun sincerely liked Dukat. No one did. 

“Did you go to Dukat?” Damar asked, trying to sound as disinterested in Weyoun’s answer as he could.

Weyoun was silent for a moment, like he was considering his options. “No,” he said, playing with the untouched fruit on his plate. 

“Why not? You seemed…” Damar trailed off, doing some sort of hand gesture meant to signify the _whatever_ Weyoun and Dukat had been engaging in yesterday. 

Weyoun sighed, actually, genuinely, sighed, and let his fork clatter onto the table. “Would you prefer it if I let Dukat fuck me? Is that what you want?”

His frustration was clear and _real,_ and it might’ve been the first real thing Damar thought he’d ever seen from Weyoun. It would’ve been refreshing, in any other moment. Instead, it was awkward and strange and confusing. Weyoun expected Damar to understand him, without ever explaining a thing. It was like he’d pestered Damar into playing a board game he’d never heard of, thrust him into the middle of it without explaining the rules, and then laughed at him when he didn’t know what he was doing. It was infuriating. Weyoun was infuriating. And somehow, that made Damar want him more.

He clenched his teeth, trying to come up with a reply. He didn’t know what to say. What was he supposed to say to a sentence like that, a _question_ like that? 

“I wouldn’t prefer it,” he said, breaking the silence. “I couldn’t care less what you and Dukat do with your time.”

“I see.” Weyoun stood and placed his untouched plate back in the replicator, watching it disintegrate. He continued staring at it long after it was gone. “I don’t like him, you know.”

“Dukat?” Damar asked, even though he didn’t need the clarification. 

Weyoun nodded. “He’s awful. But at least he _responds_ to me.”

Damar took that to mean, _at least he knows how to play the damn game, Damar._ “He _responds_ to anyone, Weyoun. You deserve better than that.”

Rolling his eyes, Weyoun chose not to even dignify that statement with a response, leaving the room without so much as a _good day._ And Damar was left sitting alone with nothing but confusion and not enough kanar to make it through the day. 

Altogether, the night following their riveting breakfast conversation and subsequent day of avoiding each other was one of the worst they’d had yet, and yes, Damar had taken to ranking them. He didn’t have anything better to do. Weyoun spent over an hour in the bathroom, doing nothing but playing with his hair. Damar refused to be the one to break the horrible silence surrounding them, so he let Weyoun wear himself out and hope he got bored of staring at himself in the mirror before Damar murdered him. 

Every time Damar would turn the lights out, Weyoun would turn them back on again. It was a silent argument. Off, on, off, on, off, on. Neither of them spoke, and eventually, Damar gave in and went to sleep. When he woke up in the morning, Weyoun had already left and the lights were still on. 

He turned them off as he left. 

Weyoun didn’t flirt with Dukat that day, in fact he was quite subdued compared to his normal behavior, he didn’t even bother bragging about any of his past accomplishments or talking about the history of the Dominion. It might’ve been nice, but Damar had a sinking feeling this hostile silence was going to culminate later in Weyoun’s quarters—in a violent way. Or at least a loud and angry one. 

It was the fifth night. They were halfway finished with this hell, and Damar was not looking forward to the fact that he and Weyoun would either be at each other’s throats or refusing to breathe the same air as the other for another five days. 

The floor was still as uncomfortable as it had been the first four nights, and Damar had a feeling that if he was forced to sleep on the floor of Weyoun’s quarters for one more night, one of them would end up dead. And he doubted it would be Weyoun, considering he was the size of a twig and just as breakable. 

“Sleep in the bed,” Weyoun said as he left the bathroom, drying his hair with a towel. It was a question, despite the way he’d phrased it as more of an order. 

“Why?”

“Because there’s room.” 

Damar watched as water dripped from Weyoun’s hair onto the pillows. Weyoun didn’t seem bothered at all by this, and he dropped the towel next to him and curled up on the bed. 

“What the hell are you doing?” Damar asked incredulously, offended on behalf of the bed and the institution of sleep for Weyoun’s soaking wet hair. 

“Going to sleep,” Weyoun said, like Damar was an idiot. 

“For the love of all that’s-” Damar stopped, deciding he’d reached his limit on levels of frustration with Weyoun and sat next to him on the bed, picking up the discarded towel. “Sit up.”

Weyoun did, tilting his head in confusion, as Damar reached up and began drying off his hair. 

“What are you doing?” Weyoun asked after a minute, although he didn’t seem bothered by this development.

“Teaching you how to be a person, apparently.” 

Weyoun hummed in response, seemingly unable to come up with anything to say. His hair was something of an enigma to Damar, it was wild and unruly and he had so much of it, no wonder why all the Vorta Damar had met kept their hair short, in that same unmoving style. 

“Do you have a comb?” Damar asked after a few minutes, and Weyoun didn’t answer, he seemed to be in some sort of trance. “Weyoun?” 

He jumped, his eyes snapping open. “I do. It’s in the cupboard.” He pointed across the room, and Damar sighed upon the realization that he was going to be the one to get it. How he’d managed to get into this situation after lamenting the fact that he’d kill Weyoun tonight was a mystery, and he chose not to worry about solving it. Weyoun wasn’t causing him any problems at the moment, so it was a step in the right direction.

He combed Weyoun’s hair for him, and tried not to think about why he was doing this. If he happened to run his fingers through his curls more than was necessary for his goal of untangling it, then so what? It wasn’t like anyone was watching them, and Weyoun didn’t seem to have any complaints. They slept on the bed together, although not exactly together, because Damar stayed as far away from him as possible and woke up early enough to leave before Weyoun. 

It wasn’t a step in the right direction for their relationship, but it was a step in a direction different from the stale contempt they’d been developing. Weyoun didn’t flirt with Dukat that day either, and in fact, Damar might go as far as to say he was flirting with him, not as blatantly as he had been with Dukat, but still. 

They drank kanar together that evening, and it was nice. Weyoun was quiet, contemplative, even. He stared out of the viewport of his quarters, sitting on the edge of the windowsill, his legs crossed in a polite, almost regal, manner, as he sipped the kanar.

“This is highly toxic,” he commented after a long moment of silence.

“If you don’t like it, just say so.”

“I don’t have an opinion on its flavor, you know my tastebuds are limited.”

Damar responded by taking the glass from him and finishing it off. Weyoun didn’t even bother looking offended by it, he just crossed his arms and continued staring out the viewport. 

“The Founders would be disappointed in me,” Weyoun said after a while. 

“What are you talking about?”

He sighed, staring off into the middle distance and somehow managing to not look like an idiot and instead looking the way he probably wanted to look; like a distraught damsel in distress waiting for a rescuer. “Sexual encounters are forbidden between Vorta and… anyone, really. The exception to the rule is in diplomacy, if, for some reason, granting sexual favors or partaking in a mating ceremony of some sort is the only way to further negotiations.”

That was a surprisingly honest admittance from Weyoun, and Damar was too shocked by that fact itself, and then by his words, that he wasn’t able to come up with an adequate response before Weyoun continued. 

“I have no reason to want the things I want. It would do no good to the Founders, and despite that knowledge, I can’t seem to convince myself to drop it.”

Damar’s mouth felt rather dry and he swallowed, setting down the kanar glass on the floor next to him, looking away from Weyoun’s face as he spoke. “What _do_ you want?” It was a useless question, because Weyoun had spelled out what he wanted in obvious terms, but Damar wasn’t about to make any assumptions. 

“I had hoped,” Weyoun began, sighing and looking away from the window, “that you and I might engage in quelling these… compulsions I’ve been experiencing. I attempted Cardassian mating rituals, and you seemed primarily responsive, but you would always pull away at the last moment. So now I’m asking you, point blank, as they say, Damar, would you like to have sexual intercourse with me?”

“I…” Damar started, and then stopped, because he had no clue how to respond to that. Instead of answering the question, his brain decided to focus on something else. “You were flirting with Dukat to make me jealous?”

“I thought that was obvious.”

“It absolutely was not.” As far as Damar was concerned, flirting with Dukat (even with the specific goal of making someone else jealous, was never a good move). 

“So?” Weyoun prompted, in a way that simultaneously meant _so what if I was flirting with Dukat, what are you going to do about it_ and _so, would you like to engage in sexual relations with me, because you haven’t answered and I’m mildly concerned you’ve already forgotten the question._ Leave it to Weyoun to insult Damar’s intelligence even within a vague implication.

“I’m… going to sleep,” Damar said. It wasn’t an answer, so not necessarily a rejection. More of a way to say, _I need to think._ Weyoun, who was far more capable of picking up nonverbal hints than Damar was, nodded silently in understanding. “Goodnight, Weyoun.”

“Goodnight, Damar.”

Weyoun turned back to the window, and stayed there after Damar had turned the lights off. His silhouette stood out against the dark void of space, like he was glowing a soft silver color, his hair (which Damar had been noticing more and more lately) a bit more loose after a long day, curled down the back of his neck. He really was beautiful, and perhaps Damar should have told him that instead of saying he needed to go to sleep, but it was too late now, and he doubted Weyoun had changed his policy on test retakes. 

They were running out of days, and maybe that was Damar’s unintentional strategy, to postpone this… whatever it was with Weyoun long enough that they could get off this ship and back to their normal lives, where they slept in separate rooms and rarely spoke to each other, before either of them did something that stopped them from getting back to normal. 

Weyoun’s quiet contemplation was starting to get to him, he would stare at Damar with expressions of unabashed fascination, like it was a novelty for him to feel desire—much like it was a novelty for Damar to feel _desired._ Damar really didn’t think he could possibly be this interesting to anyone, ever. Not even his ex-wife had looked at him like that (although she had a wife herself now, so perhaps that was a component). The point was, it was distracting. He almost found himself wishing for Weyoun's endless chattiness to reappear. 

He spent the next two days in quiet contemplation himself, and came to several conclusions. 

The most important of these conclusions was the realization that Weyoun had only ever been playing a game with Damar. He hadn’t been playing with Dukat, or maybe he had, but it was an entirely different game with a much different objective, but everything Weyoun had been doing was purposeful, planned out. Damar wouldn’t put it past him to have told a Jem’Hadar to store that blanket too high for Weyoun to reach that first night on purpose, just so Damar could feel a minuscule amount more in control than he had before. He’d made sure both Dukat and Damar would be coming with him, explicitly stated his concern for Damar’s safety regarding sleeping in the same bed as Dukat, and given Damar the opportunity to sleep with him the first night. When Damar had failed to give him a solid answer, Weyoun attempted Cardassian flirting, with the added layer of directing it towards Dukat just to make Damar jealous. 

It was all a game, a test, and the final turn was Damar’s, he could end the game with a simple yes or no answer. Weyoun wasn’t pressuring him, he was patient, and perhaps that was because he’d been alive for hundreds of years and waiting two days for an answer to his question—it was more of a request—was practically nothing. He would silently stare at Damar, with that unabashed look of want in his eyes. 

Damar knew what his answer would be, he’d wanted Weyoun as soon as he’d met him and Weyoun’s terrible personality had only magnified that. There was still the problem of not knowing how to give his answer, Damar had never been propositioned like this before, he assumed Weyoun’s business deal-esque manner of approaching the subject was the result of decades of emotionless service to the Dominion, but that didn’t mean Damar had to approach him the same way. There could still be some semblance of normalcy to this. They had two more days left of this journey, and hence only two more opportunities for Damar to give his answer. 

Weyoun was sitting cross-legged on the bed, like he’d been waiting for him, and he probably had been. His eyes were wide and bright, giving him a look of purity and innocence that Damar wasn’t sure he’d ever had. 

“Have you considered-” Weyoun began, and Damar held up a hand to stop him. 

“If we do this, how much trouble would you get into?” He asked, slowly moving to sit next to him on the bed. 

Weyoun tilted his head, considering. “I would be considered defective, and my line would be discontinued.” He said it with so little emotion that it took Damar a moment to realize that was the equivalent of being killed for him, that if anyone found out about this, Weyoun would be sentenced to death, and he didn’t seem to _care._

“And you’re… not bothered by that?”

“You say that as if there is some possibility the Founders might find out. I assure you, I would never tell them, or anyone else, and I highly doubt they would believe you if you told them.”

Damar frowned. “So this is… this _would_ be… a one-time… encounter?”

“I didn’t say that.”

He sighed, growing increasingly frustrated with Weyoun’s surreptitiousness. “But what _if_ someone found out? If we do this more than once, the chances of us getting caught increases, and I need to know that _if_ someone finds out-”

“You want assurance that I’m willing to accept the risks,” Weyoun said, nodding. “I understand.”

“Weyoun, this is your _life_ we’re talking about, what would it take for you to think about your _existence_ as important? Why don’t you have an ounce of self preservation wrapped up in all that vanity?” Maybe that was harsher than intended, but Weyoun’s attitude regarding his potential death was, honestly, quite concerning to say the least. 

Weyoun frowned at him. “Vorta live for one purpose and one purpose only; to serve the Founders. The fact that I desire you to begin with means I am defective, and if the Founders ever became aware of it, I would deserve whatever punishment they deem fit. Most likely, in the form of deactivation.”

“And you don’t… have any feelings about this?”

“No.”

“Do you even _have_ any feelings?”

“I have feelings for you,” Weyoun responded accusingly, as if it was somehow Damar’s fault Weyoun had feelings for him.

“Are they any feelings you have for me that aren’t just… your annoying curiosity?”

Weyoun’s frown deepened. “I want you to fuck me, Damar, I thought we’d established this.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know,” Weyoun said. “I just _do._ So I’d prefer if you gave me an answer and stopped asking me about my _feelings.”_

Damar stared at him for a minute, and then reached forward, pulling Weyoun in by his upper back, and kissing him. His lips were warm, and the noise he made, the little breath of air and squeak of surprise he made upon contact with Damar’s lips was far more adorable than it should’ve been. 

“Is that your answer?” Weyoun asked as they pulled away, wrapping his arm around Damar’s neck. 

Damar tilted his head to the side, choosing to do something he’d never had the opportunity for before. He pressed a kiss to Weyoun’s nose, smiling lightly. “I need you to convince me.” 

“Ah, of course. That makes perfect sense.” Weyoun pushed forward, bringing his legs up on either side of Damar’s waist. “I’ll convince you to have sex with me using an age-old technique known as ‘having sex with you’. Or, conversely,” he paused to push Damar down on the mattress, running his hands down Damar’s chest and pushing his shirt up, “I could prepare an exquisitely researched and objectively brilliant three-hour long presentation on the subject.”

“And does this presentation have a physical demonstration portion?” Damar asked, moving his hand across Weyoun’s chest to untie his coat, slowly pulling it off his shoulders. 

Weyoun shrugged the coat off, throwing it unceremoniously towards the other side of the bed. “Absolutely not. It’d only distract you from the flawless arguments I would be making.”

“Then I’d prefer option one.”

“Duly noted,” Weyoun said, letting Damar briefly sit up to pull his shirt off, and then lying on top of him, kissing down the scales of his neck and across his clavicle.

********

“We could’ve done this the first night, you know,” Weyoun said, breaking the very blissful silence Damar had been basking in for only a few minutes. 

“If only you’d actually _told_ me what you were asking me, instead of… vaguely implying it.”

“You’re a Cardassian, I thought everything was meant to be _vaguely implied.”_ Weyoun turned on his side, wrapping his leg around Damar’s.

“Not _that_ vague.” Damar pulled Weyoun closer, watching his eyes flutter shut as he ran his fingers along his jaw.

“I think you just don’t want to admit you don’t know how to flirt,” Weyoun murmured.

**Author's Note:**

> [Twitter](https://twitter.com/kaijuvenom)  
> [Tumblr](https://kaijuvenom.tumblr.com/)  
> theyre in love <3


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